


Survivor's Guilt

by Beryll (Rynthjan)



Category: Diablo (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, barbarians - Freeform, set after LoD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynthjan/pseuds/Beryll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baal is defeated, the battle is won, but too much has been lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivor's Guilt

The storm was howling like an angry beast with the voice of a hundred wolves. It tore and gnawed at the stout longhouse. But with one of it's flanks huddled against the rocky shoulder of the mountain all it accomplished was to shake snow from the roof., adding it to the piles already heaped against the exposed flank. Through the few cracks of the tight wooden shutters the light of fire and candles glowed, an alien promise of warmth in this frozen world.

The shapes slowly making their way up the winding path that led up to the lonely plateau kept their eyes on this faint glow, pulling themselves in on it like a lifeline. 

They were wrapped in thick furs that made it impossible to discern if they hid beast or human. There many small ones, some bigger but the one that would have drawn the attention of any observer was the huge one at the front who cleared the path of snow with his pure mass, leaving a trail for the smaller ones to follow. It was moving with a strange lurch, stopping occasionally - maybe to scan the area, maybe to catch it's breath.

When the group reached the plateau the shape stopped again, shaking snow from it's fur like a great bear. Stretching against the storm it now revealed that it was indeed a man, albeit a man like only few walk the earth. Build like the mountain he had been climbing he would tower over most other men, shoulders as wide as an ox's, arms and legs bulging with muscles that seemed even larger wrapped in the heavy furs. Beneath his furs armor of high quality glimmered and strapped to his back there were to huge axes that would have befitted a king.

But his defiance only lasted for a moment before he drew his furs tighter around himself and lowered his head against the storm again, ploughing on with the determination that is born of despair.

When they finally reached the door of the longhouse it was one of the smaller shapes - a woman wrapped in just as heavy furs - that banged against the door with her fist. The tired warrior bracing himself against the solid wall, his breathing laboured now that he had reached his destination.

Home.

Home at last.

It took only a moment until the door was cautiously opened, the face peering outside wrinkled with age but the eyes still alert. And the crossbow right below that face ready to fire.

The woman inside and the woman outside stared at each other but before either could speak the warrior did:

"It's all right, mother, it's me."

The keen eyes turned to him and so did the crossbow.

"My son is dead. Who are you to claim his name?" the old woman hissed with cold rage threatening to boil over.

The warrior pushed back the hood that had covered his head and revealed a face marked with the scars of great battles, deep lines of weariness and the pallor of a man at the end of his strength.

"And who are you to believe such lies. Did you not raise a son who would come back even from death?" he asked, his voice unsteady but with an unshakable pride in who he was and what he had accomplished.

"Keel…?"

The cross bow clattered to the floor as the old woman covered her mouth with her hands. Her mouth was working soundlessly with now word making it across her lips.

He smiled at her tiredly.

"Yes, mother. Now please let us in. A great many young lives depend on the fire of your hearth."

-

"I can't believe he walked all the way with those wound."

The woman tried to keep her voice a low whisper still she was heard.

"I have had worse, Shani, and much worse care." Keel muttered through gritted teeth while his mother kept sewing up the deep gash in his thigh. 

It had been bleeding all the way up the mountain, the hot blood dripping down his leg a reminder that he better make it some place safe quickly. It had only been one of many wounds but the most serious one and the only one that worried him. He had been wounded more than enough in the last few months to know by feel alone which wound could kill and what was just an annoyance.

"How bad is it?" he asked his mother.

She looked up from her work, her wrinkled face hard as the shoulder of the mountain. Where any other healer might have reassured him she would give him nothing but the truth.

"Very bad. I cleaned out the poison but it has seeped deeply into your flesh. It will heal but don't expect to regain full use of the leg. Ever."

Keel closed his eyes, fighting for control over his raging temper. He needed that damned leg. He needed it now.

"Can you fix it? Fix it now?"

"Fix it to do what?" his mother's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"I have to go back." Keel replied flatly. "I have unfinished business that needs my attention."

"And what might that be?"

His mother shook her head and went back to sewing none too gently.

"In case you didn't notice: Mount Arreat is no more. It's over. There is no duty anymore for our people."

Keel's hand shot out and took hold of his mother's wrist in an iron grip.

"I was there." he hissed. "I was atop that fucking mountain." 

He pointed to his charred and bloody axes resting close at hand..

"That is Baal's blood. I pierced his skull and took his life. I was there when Tyrael destroyed the Worldstone, I saw the taint in it. I heard the howl of dark released into the world. And I tell you this fight is not over and neither is our duty."

For a long moment Keel and his mother glared at each other. Then the old woman's face gentled. "But your fight is over, my son. I am sorry but your days of climbing into hell and squashing demons are over."

Impotent rage boiled up in Keel. The knowledge that his mother wouldn't lie too clear. With a howl of primal rage he rammed his fist into the sturdy wooden wall and splinter flew everywhere.

"I HAVE to go back!" he groaned, the pain shooting through his fist from more scrapped skin serving to clear his mind some.

"But what for?" Shani chimed in. "There is nothing back there but death and ruin."

She was answered with stony silence. So she continued.

"Keel. We need you. We need you here. You also have a duty to your people, not just to the rest of the world. You have done enough for them."

She gestured at the children and few women gathered in the longhouse, some huddled close to the huge fireplace, other wrapped in thick furs, finally asleep after the long trek.

"They can not fend for themselves. Not yet. Who will teach them the ways of our people. Who will teach them duty and how to fight? Who will feed them?"

Keel tiredly closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. Blood loss, pain and despair made him feel dizzy. She didn't know and that was the way he preferred it. He didn't want her pity. She had lost her husband - his brother - in the terror at Mount Arreat. He - like most of their people - had died in the last great battle. It still boggled his mind that he had survived. Again. He had gathered what survivors he could find and led them away. Led them to this remote and harsh place where he had grown up.

Home.

He had thought no further. Had made no plans. Making plans was not his greatest talent. She had always taken care of that.

'Point me in the right direction and I'll kill it for you.' That's what he had told her so many times in jest and she had laughed every time. Her silvery laughter so very different to his own. Lightning and thunder.

She must have survived too. She always had. Somehow. Against all odds. He had seen her fall, the last thing he remembered before being flung down himself, the mountain itself shattering beneath his feet.

"Keel, please."

Soft hands touching him brought him back to the present. He looked at Shani, She was right of course. If he left now, they would not get through the winter. He could just as well have left them on the battlefield. Could just as well have split their skulls himself.

His gaze swept over the children. His people. What was left of them. A shudder ran through him. They were what stood between the world and the dark unleashed. So helpless themselves. They would need to learn what he had learned when he was their age. And then so much more. 

Swallowing hard he buried that last memory of her in his heart, that look of fury in her eyes, not an ounce of fear.

His duty was here.


End file.
